The beginning was posted elsewhere before but I wished to use continuity within the story so I brought it here, tell me what you think and if I should continue. Thanks

The shrine world of Altir II had never been such a dedication to the emperor as it was now. Now Its plains were battlefields, Alters to The lord of mankind the Emperor. Countless Imperial and arch enemy lives are being spilt across its surface. Legions march with cries of adulation upon their lips, Tanks growl with the faith of their crews and titans roam crushing all that lays before them in his name.
Within the main hive itself merciless kill teams sweep the streets scouring the taint from this holy world. Unlike any other kill team in the city that night one could not be stopped. They could not be pinned, They could not be deterred and as far as the enemy were concerned they could not be killed. Distant artillery battles throbbed to the north and the abandoned streets of the Escilarch district were far from silent.
The flashes of gunfire highlighted the gothic architecture of the buildings and shone upon once graceful streets.
A cry of “No Mercy” ripped itself from Brother Sergeant Titus as he strode through the wall of the building. Its walls were no match for his faith. His chainsword flashed up and down bisecting any who tried to stop him. His Bolt pistol spoke with words of hate as it punched enemies off their feet. Entire sections of hab collapsed behind him as he and his squad strode through the walls. The enemy had erected heavy weapons at the street junctions but they would not stop these angles of death.
“Form up on me” Titus ordered the squad as they cleansed the buildings of the ochre clad traitor guard. “We are approaching the objective brothers”. Gripping his blade tight Titus strode through yet another section of wall into the clearing of a square in which stood the Emperors cathedral. A las bolt dissipated itself harmlessly off his shoulder guard scorching the symbol of his chapter. According to the cannons of the Black Templars that is a challenge that cannot be denied.
“To the cathedral brothers, Let nothing stand before you” he ordered the squad as las bolts detonated around them. Brother Licus scoured the taint from the cathedral steps with thrice blessed promethium while Titus and his fellow marines forged their way up. With a mighty crack the cathedral doors parted before Titus’s boot and their true meaning in this city finally came into view.
A squad of traitor marines turned from their ritual to see who would dare disturb them at this pivotal moment in the ceremony. Smiles crept upon the faces of those few not wearing helmets. Finally a challenge for them, They had had to content themselves with the human defenders of this world up till now.
Titus’s squad formed up around him and with a grace only centuries of war could bring strode forward towards their enemy with their cursory saying upon their lips “ If I retreat Kill me, If I charge follow me, If I fall avenge me! In His name and that of the chapter our holy duty be done till the enemy lie dead or we do”
The Traitors Moved to meet them, fire light danced upon their corrupt armour and the snarling faces of marine and helmet alike. Horns, spikes and other such fetishes adorned their armour in shows of respect to their patron gods. There was only one god the Templars wished them to meet. The armour of the Templars in contrast shone bright and new, They bore symbols of faith like torches in the heart of corruption.
Bolt pistols raised and chainswords were brought to bear. At full pelt the impact of marine on marine was titanic causing mosaics on the floor to crack and crumble. Titus swung his sword in an over head strike towards the first traitors face, Titus’s sword streaked down to be intercepted by the traitors blade, Shifting to the left Titus brought his sword back to bear in time to parry three successive thrusts. Titus fainted right then slammed his blade back to the left for it to be deflected by his opponents bracer, He tried pulling his pistol up only to have it sent flying as the traitors blade slapped it aside with its chain broken. A rage began to boil within the traitor and he threw himself with glee at Titus. His savage blows pushed Titus back step by step with angry furrows being gouged through his ceramite. Pushing the traitor back with a shoulder slam Titus hooked his foot under a fallen chain sword and flicked it up to be deftly caught. Now wielding two blades Titus went on the offensive. His intricate series of blows now pushing the traitor back the way he had advanced. Titus used his blade to push the traitor marines to the side while slamming his elbow into their face. Off balance and knocked back the traitor failed to intercept the scissoring blow for his neck and the chain blades bit through the neck seal decapitating him.
With a quick glance around Titus could see each of his men lock in similar duels, Varius lay on the ground beside a traitor evidently having dealt each other mortal blows. Titus had little time to see how others were doing, This was taking to long, Titus’s could already feel a thrumming in the air and it seemed as if every molecule within his body was vibrating.
He knew as a sergeant how important personal honour was to his men and taking on their fallen brothers one to one was one of the greatest achievements they could ever hope for. However deeply encoded in each of them was the psycho indoctrination that meant the chapter comes first. “Bolter line Scythe” Titus growled over the com link. Immediately five brothers broke out of combat and stood shoulder to shoulder. As the traitors rushed forward to overwhelm them all five brought their pistols to bear. With tight discipline they opened up and under the barrage the two traitors in front exploded outwards with their armour breached by multiple mass reactive shells. Others were knocked back off balance wounded or just dazed. The Templars never gave them a chance, striding forward as one with blades flashing in complimentary patterns the marines quickly overcame their fallen brothers.
As the last few traitors were dispatched Titus took a head count, Minor wounds all round with two casualties. Varius as well as brother Kalem, Kalems armour had been breached and both his hearts punctured. Not even a marine could survive that kind of punishment.
Titus had little time to worry about his squad as the thrumming continued to grow louder and more intense. Lights danced across broken glass even when there was no light to be cast upon them and stones skittered across the floor as if dancing to an unheard tune. The chapels air seemed to be saturated with pure hate as the screaming of a thousand voices filled the air with their sonorous pain.
Titus’s men had been efficient however they were to late, the traitors had bought with their lives the time they needed. A rift was opening and something was forcing its way through.
The world exploded around Titus, He was hurled backwards scraping across the floor producing a trail of sparks. A terrible keening filled the air, thousands of voices screaming in hate, anger and pain. The light and sound was so strong it overloaded his auto senses momentarily. Pushing himself up from the floor Titus stared at what stood before him.
“Daemon” was all he could utter at the sight, his rage and hatred of such a thing existing in the Emperors realm was a bane to him. His squad had survived the blast, their armour smoked lightly with flecks of paint falling like a dark snow upon the white mosaic floor.
The daemon was crouching upon the floor as if basking in its caporal form. Easily five times an astartes height it was huge. Titus’s squad took up positions among the cloisters ready to attack. They spread out to take it from multiple angles at once.
Titus’s com crackled to life to be filled with brother Samels voice “Sergeant, permission to bring the emperors wrath upon this abomination?”. “Granted” snarled Titus as his squad went about the work of doing just that, Their work. It was what they were built for, to destroy that which mortal humans could not. Faith would be their shield this night and Zeal their weapon. “Bolters free” he voxed and straight away a hail of shells began pummelling the daemon. Its blood red skin was covered in though scales upon which most bolts detonated harmlessly, some gouged wounds into its flesh that bled multi coloured blood. It stood their and laughed off their shells, its eyes burned with a fire and its horns each as long as an astartes themselves curled around its head making it look like a mockery of a gladiator helmet from ancient earth.
With a roar It brought its huge terrible blade that bled an eerie green fire to bear and lunged at Titus who stood before it. Titus rolled to the left as sammel came from the right while the daemon turned to follow Titus. His blade hacked at its sides and the daemon roared in fury swinging its right arm to crush him. Anticipating the move he ducked under the blow which left the daemon open for Titus to strike himself. With lightning speed it slapped Titus back across the chapel.
Titus crashed through the angelic face of an un-named saint that stood within the cloisters. Pulling himself to his feet he watched as his squad supported each other. They took turns laying down suppressive fire while others ran in at different angles hacking and slashing. The squads flamer doused it with the blessed promethium and this seemed to have the most effect before the beast blade came crashing through a pillar to cut him in half.
Titus ran back into the fray, Litanies of fury ripped themselves from his lips as he went at it. Samel ever the energetic fighter launched himself from a pillar bringing his blade down across the daemons head. He severed one of its horns as well as scouring a deep gouge. With a fury the daemon grabbed him by the backpack power plant of his armour as he flew passed and rammed his straight down its blade. He flopped there for a few seconds, prayers gurgled from his lips as even in his last moments he tried to strike back at the foe that struck him down. It threw his corpse contemptuously through the air to come to rest upon some broken pews.
Two brothers took the break in the daemons concentration given by their brothers sacrifice to run in and ham string it across the right leg. The daemon collapsed to one knee the floor crumbling beneath it. The sword lashed out in a green flash and Titus jumped, not to avoid the blade but to reach it. Propelling himself off the daemons blade he brought down his duel chainswords upon the daemons vulnerable face. The removal of its horn left it open and two deep furrows from face to stomach opened on the daemon. Light as well as blood streamed from these as it roared its protest.
It went into a fury hacking left and right, brother Fabeil flew through the air after trying to parry a hit, his arm was shattered but he yet lived. Taking up a position to the side to asses the situation which looked grimmer and grimmer Titus noticed the flamer soaked in blood near him. The daemons wounds already began to heal, they needed a hard blow fast. Taking out the canister from the holy weapon Titus ran forward at full pelt. Throwing himself to the floor Titus slide right between the daemons legs at speed trailing sparks. As he passed his arm shot up and rammed the canister into the wound he had created.
“The canister, Aim for the canister brothers” screamed Titus over the com, realizing their sergeants intent the squad aimed their bolters at the canister and fired. The canister went off bathing the daemon in flame, it howled as it ate it away from the inside. In its death throws it slashed left and right, bringing down statues of saints and pillars. When it finally collapsed its chest was a hollow black cavity as dark as their armour. Its glowing eyes dulled to embers and went out. Its face was locked in a grimace of denial and hate so pure only a daemon could feel its depths.
Gathering themselves the marines strode past the daemons corpse to the cathedrals alter and began to pray to the Emperor, thanking him for their victory and offering up prayers to their comrades souls. In that dark cavernous space six marines knelt. The air was filled with brick dust and embers, Distant artillery throbbed through the night sky above and small weapons fire came ever closer. The battle on this planet is over for them, The war however in the imperium as a whole will never end. Yet as long as the angles of death watch over them in darkness it will never fall.
“For the Emperor” was the last whisper to escape Titus’s scarred warn lips set within his deep dark face.
He knew there were more battles to be fought and he was not dead yet.

The memory faded and rejoined the procession in his mind. Titus was old, mabey not physically but certainly numerically. Many memorys of men, combat actions and chapter ceremony awaited their turn to be remembered. Thanks to his astartes build he never truely forgot, no matter how many centuries passed he never forgot. He had rested enough and rising from his cot Titus strode from his spartan cell and into the hallway. Stepping out of his gloomy cell the glowstrips set into the ceiling highlighted his battle scarred visage that a life time of war had rewarded him with. set into the stoney features of his face, slate grey eyes stared out from beneath a strong brown. Although Titus had taken many wounds during his life as an astartes he remaind as fit and strong as ever. He was always fit for battle.
Titus slowely plodded down the corridor with a gait adopted through long hours use of tatical terminator armour. His bare feet slapped the ground with barely a whisper, another trait granted to him by many years of stealth actions on the battle fields of countless worlds. The black robe he had clad himself in swished lightly to the motion of his march. you could hardley call it a walk for never would someone seem so alert and ready when mearly walking. Seven silver studs glittered apon his brow menacingly while he crossed a gantrie overlooking a bay within the battle barge "Heart of war". Novices toiled below learning the skills they would require to one day become astartes like him. Although as many as one hundred toiled below he doubted even five would make it to the stage of neophyte. The training of a Black Templar was as brutal as many, worse in many ways for their could be no weakness within them.
Opening the gene locked armoury where his armour was stored Titus began preying to the spirit of his armour. The ancient suite of artificer armour had replace his terminator suit after incredible damage to its structure. The apothecaries like the few times before had wondered to themselves how he had survived such wounds that would render terminator armour to scrap. The answer was simple... faith, a Black Templar was nothing without it and Titus held it in abundance.
Donning the armour was ritual to him now, after so long the armour felt like part of him as if he was incomplete without it. Titus could feel a strength and clarity of purpose manifest itself when he had completed the task. At request he had stayed at the level of Sargent of a sword breatheren squad, Larger commands did not suit him as they would draw his attention farther away from battle up close. Lifting His chain blade Titus stared into the reflection of a battered worn weapon that had served him ever since he had become a fully fledged marine. Staring at it Titus could not help but remember...